


Viaticum

by taoroo



Series: In This Place, Forever [6]
Category: Ladyhawke (1985)
Genre: Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this before the rona I swear, Sick Phillipe, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taoroo/pseuds/taoroo
Summary: After the events of “A Trial of Beginnings” Phillipe has gotten himself into another precarious situation. This may be his deadliest misadventure yet.
Series: In This Place, Forever [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1104279
Comments: 14
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

“Ah, there’s the little layabout,” Imperious called as Phillipe slouched into the kitchen. “Come, sluggard, and eat fast. You’ve a long day ahead of you, and no-one to blame but yourself!”

Phillipe looked none too impressed with the idea. He slid into his seat with a groan, rubbing sleep from his eyes and wincing at the light.

“How is it morning already?” he groused.

I chuckled from my seat by the stove, but as I made to rise to serve my brother, Nannette placed a firm hand on my shoulder.

“Rest, m’lady. You’re barely out of bed yourself.”

“It’s been over a day,” I huffed. _Really_ , so much fussing!

“It has been _barely_ a day,” Nannette retorted as she ladled a serving of porridge from the kettle and placed the bowl before Phillipe. He gave her a smile as he gave his thanks and I was gratified to see him receive one in return. Our housekeeper had warmed to my brother over the months since his first disastrous foray into her kitchens, though I suspected he still frequently tried her patience.

Still, I had my own battle to fight with our formidable servants the moment.

“You told me your mother bore her last child in the laundry and went right back to work after, the babe swaddled to her breast!”

“My mother would have been docked pay had she not,” Nannette said wryly, “You, my lady, have no such worries.”

“Oh,” I said, startled. Such a thought had never occurred to me. After experiencing my own tortuous and exhausting labour I couldn’t imagine being able to do the same. “…Truly?”

I caught Phillipe and Nannette sharing a secretive smile, but I couldn’t find it within myself to be put out. They were perfectly within their rights to think me naive.

“Well that will never do,” I huffed. “We shall see about that.” Already, plans began to form in my mind; some sort of fund or charity perhaps? Or an incentive for masters to provide respite? Hum…

“I’m pleased you take an interest, my lady,” Nannette said, but she was frowning at Phillipe. “Porridge isn’t just for looking at, young sir.”

She always called him that with a cheeky inflection, I mused with my own secretive smile. If he was ever in danger of forgetting his humble origins, Phillipe was sure to have Nannette remind him. Which was no bad thing, to be certain. We each of us should be humble and grateful of any improvement in our circumstances.

I let my mind wander back to the days not so long ago, living in hastily constructed bivouacs or abandoned hovels, scrounging food by the light of the stars. Of fingers, frozen to the bone, and clothes sodden for days by rain and snow.

Imperious, who had been content to enjoy his own breakfast before now, joined in with Nannette’s chiding.

“Let none of the Lord’s bounty pass you by, young man,” he said in mock homily. “There are many mouths this morning that are certainly going hungry.”

Phillipe made a weak noise of assent and took a mouthful of his porridge, though his expression remained reluctant.

“And don’t tell me there is anything wrong with the taste! I myself have had two portions.”

“You would have a third, if I let you,” Nannette said, though more fond than stern. “We have more mouths to feed today, lest you forget.”

“Ah, yes,” Imperious harrumphed, “Our houseguests.”

I had heard the story first in rambling, enthusiastic form from Mouse when I had awoken yesterday after my long labour’s sleep. Etienne, Nannette, and Imperious had also sat in to hear the tale. When Phillipe was done, and our questions clarified, Etienne had summarised the events, in his stern, simple way; a summary which our brother confirmed was “grimly accurate”.

“ _But really, Eti, they aren’t as bad as all that._ ”

“ _They are bandits, Phillipe, and kidnappers.”_

_“Aye, sir, but good ones!”_

It had taken all of dear Phillipe’s persuasion to stop my husband from going straightaway to our cellars, where two of the bandits were imprisoned. Imperious also was disinclined to leave them without at least a strong sermon, one which I wasn’t entirely certain wouldn’t have been physical. I myself felt it within reason to visit retribution on them for what they had put our precious Mouse through, but we listened all the same to his arguments, and eventually came about to his way of thinking.

Phillipe sneezed.

“There, you’ve caught yourself a headcold,” I said, worry making my words a little harsher than necessary. “Why you defend those thieves is beyond me.”

But really, we all knew why Phillipe was so protective of the band. Save for a happenstance meeting between a mouse and a wolf, Phillipe’s story was very much the same. The men and women of the robber’s band were simply victims of circumstance, much like us; just another consequence of the bishop’s vile deeds.

“It was one sneeze,” Phillipe said, waving his hand in dismissal whilst the other ran his sleeve across his nose. He caught Nannette glaring and stopped, putting his hands into his lap and hunching inward sheepishly.

“I’m fine.”

I eyed him suspiciously. But then, Phillipe was never one to downplay any ailment or injury. No indeed! If he felt at all unwell we would be certain to hear about it, at great length and in greater detail.

“As you say,” I said, caution in my tone, “Perhaps it would be best if you stayed at home today, all the same.”

“No, no,” Phillipe caught me eyeing his mostly-full bowl and shoved a hearty spoonful of porridge into his mouth, speaking messily around it, “I’m perfectly fine, sister, you needn’t worry about me. I’m strong as a… a—”

“—a mouse?” I finished with a grin as Nannette cuffed my brother and reminded him of his manners.


	2. Chapter 2

I was bundled up as thoroughly as a bear in its winter den. So much so that taking the reins of the cart was nearly impossible and I had handed them to my travelling companion early on.

Bernart had been surprised at the trust I placed in him, but not near as much as this morning, when we had laid out our plan to the pair of (hopefully soon-to-be-ex-) bandits, newly freed from their confinement within the cellars.

I suppose my idea is a little unconventional, Lord; no thief had ever before been _rewarded_ for their crimes, after all. Well, save myself, I suppose, thanks to Your mercy. And I aim to start a trend.

Raoul, walking alongside the cart so as to spare poor Bess, was the more greatly suspicious of the pair. I saw Eti keeping a close eye on the man as he rode beside us on Goliath, the great beast likely relieved he wasn’t yet again in the cart’s traces.

I shifted, feeling overwarm with all my layers, then winced.

“You alright?” Bernart asked.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, fine,” I said quickly.

The bandit, older than his fellow and a mite more kindly, gave me a look of fatherly concern.

“Y’seem uncomfortable, lad.”

I tried not to blush and failed. “It’s just all these layers,” I lied. There was no fear that I would ever let on why it wasn’t exactly pleasant for me to sit on the hard wood of the cart. It had been but three days since my reunion with the Blessed Vengeful Hands of my siblings, and still my poor bottom felt like it was freshly blistered.

A jolt of guilt stabbed through my chest. I deserved every bit of this discomfort and far, far more.

Bernart chuckled. “Your ladyhawke fusses over her chicks like any other woman.”

I gave a hum, hoping he’d catch on and not push for conversation. It could have all gone so very wrong…

I was juddered awake not a minute later it seemed, and opened my eyes (though Lord I don’t remember closing them) to see the cart had been steered away from the road. I enjoyed a moment of panic until I spied Etienne ahead, walking Goliath now, with a hand on his sword.

“Awake are you?” Bernart grinned, though his smile was a little strained. He was probably wondering what trick we might be playing on them, or how we might be received by Claude and the rest of the band. Though what we had packed into the cart should surely go far to reassuring them.

“I was just resting my eyes,” I fibbed.

The cart lurched again over the uneven ground and I hid a yelp by scrambling up and hopping to the ground.

 _Ohh_ , every muscle protested; my legs wobbling alarmingly, though the stiffness was not so flaringly painful as it had been when I woke yesterday. I suppose a day’s hard riding, clinging for dear-life to the saddle will do that to a body, though I have no idea how Eti stands it. Regardless, I could bear my bones being rattled no longer.

“Are we almost there?”

I needed no answer, however, as at that moment our cart was surrounded by familiar figures.

Familiar – armed – figures.

Eti froze, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, though not yet drawing it. _Yet_.

I hurried forwards as non-threateningly as I could, my hands thrown up in surrender. “Don’t fire, don’t fire. It’s me!”

Claude stepped forward, eyeing us suspiciously. He still carried his axe, holding it ready in case of attack.

“You brought my horse back, I see. And my men, alive as you promised. Next thing you’ll be telling me you brought the ransom too.”

Etienne’s snarl was low and dreadful.

Several men took a pace back, Claude included.

“So, this is your brother, the wolf?” he said, giving Etienne a respectful nod.

Eti’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, his face grim as death.

“That’s right, though he is a wolf no longer, if you remember,” I said, trying to make pleasant, though it seemed my brother was not quite as ready to forgive the bandits as I had thought.

Eti’s expression did not change, but I swear he gave off the impression he might turn into a wolf at any moment still.

Claude nodded again, but warily. “Bernart, Raoul… what is all this?”

“An offering of peace,” I hastily cut in, “and a proposition, if you would care to hear it.”

“Another of your propositions?” Claude harrumphed, then took a deep breath, fixing me with a considering eye.

”…Very well. Let’s hear it then.”


	3. Chapter 3

Leaving the camp I took the rear of the procession instead of the fore. There were only five more men with us – so no more than I could handle, should they betray us – but I still disliked the idea of having armed strangers at my back.

One of the womenfolk had come along; the one introduced to me as the scoundrel Claude’s wife, Marie. She had insisted on coming along to see their new living arrangements for herself, “To see if they were suitable”, in her words; though I rather thought that these beggars should not be so choosey. She sat on the cart beside Mouse, listening amiably enough as my brother prattled.

Phillipe had livened up some since our meeting with the bandits, clearly pleased with how well they had received our offer. I was proud of him, though I still had my doubts; it was a remarkable plan.

Imperious’s castle was coming closer into view. The bandits had known of it, but had never come close. I had been amused to hear that – in places where Imperious was not known – the opinion was that the place was haunted by an old, vengeful spirit. Imperious had been less enthused when he’d heard this from our captives, which had improved my humour somewhat after Phillipe’s tale.

As we drew close, the reaction became mixed.

“Good land, at least,” one man said, after an inspection of the ground near the castle gates. He had been a farmer before his life of crime, and had been brought along for this assessment.

“The main house is… liveable?” asked Marie, plainly in some doubt.

Phillipe stammered through a hasty affirmative, obfuscating only a little, as was typical of him.

“Space for livestock and storage,” Claude mused, “once the sheds are rebuilt.”

“With winter coming it will be good to have a roof over our heads,” one man said.

“ _Most_ of a roof,” another countered and the group laughed.

Claude turned a circle, taking in the ruin and its grounds, his gaze finally resting on me. “So, you offer all this,” he said, his tone wary, “and what would you ask in return?”

“This is no charity,” I said, knowing my tone was abrasive. I ignored Phillipe, who danced behind the man, trying to gain my attention and no-doubt reign in my animosity. “I own the land and wish to make use of it, nothing more.”

… _“I beg pardon?”_ Imperious had been incredulous.

I myself had been a little surprised, having forgotten about the purchase not long after making it.

_“The whole thing?”_

_“The castle and its grounds,”_ Phillipe had confirmed – he would know, I suppose: it was all in the ledgers. _“A few acres in each direction.”_

_“For how long?”_

I had shrugged. Truly, it wasn’t important. _“Some time last year. Really, it is of little consequence.”_

 _“Little consequence? You buy up a man’s home and you think it of little consequence?”_ Imperious had spluttered. _“Why, then, did you do it?”_

My discomfort had grown under those three gazes, Phillipe with a twist to his lips that I knew was fond, all the while enjoying my unease immensely, little brat. Imperious had looked both affronted and confused, as well he might. Isabeau had been smiling, soft and proud. Of me. As if she had guessed my reasoning and thought it… sweet.

 _“I simply disliked the idea of any man taking a notion to renovating the land while you were still in residence,”_ I had mumbled, avoiding their gazes. A pitiful display; as if I had anything to be embarrassed about!

 _“Oh_ Eti _,"_ Isabeau had breathed, her tone making me blush furiously.

 _“Truly,”_ Phillipe had said, a touch wistfully, though his eyes sparkled with mischief, _“Who would have guessed that the good captain could succumb to such sentimentalit—eep!”_

He had promptly set off in a dash about the household, myself in hot pursuit…

Back in the present, Claude was still watching me with caution.

“You’ll let us stay here, for nothing?” he pressed, searching for the catch.

“Not for nothing,” I said, guardedly. “It is an investment. Once you are settled and begin to produce from the fields and livestock – and _after_ seeing to your own – you will sell what remains at the markets, under my household. I expect full repayment of the farm and rebuilding supplies.”

“How long will we have to repay you?”

“As long as you require.”

“With interest, I’d wager,” Claude growled.

“A reasonable interest,” Phillipe cut in. He was sweating a little, no doubt partly thanks to the many layers my beloved had bullied him into that morning.

“...No more than reasonable, and no more than you can afford. I— _we_ promise you that,” he said, looking to me imploringly for confirmation.

I allowed a tight nod. I had insisted on interest, not wanting these folk to become complacent to my charity or think me a fool. Regardless of my reservations I would give Phillipe my full support. I owed him as much for his part in Isabeau’s and our child’s good health. Aside from that obligation, however, I did trust my little brother. Though his scheme was fanciful at best, it came from a true place of goodness in his heart, and that was always to be encouraged.

The gathered bandits muttered amongst themselves, wisely mistrustful of such a generous offer. I tried not to allow a smile to break through my stern mask.

“The good Father Imperious shall watch over you when he returns,” I reminded them, “you will make certain he is cared for and well treated. If I hear otherwise, or if you return to your criminal ways, I shall not be so generous.”

They were silent a long while, suspicious, each one of them considering the proposal.

“Why are you doing this?” one eventually asked.

“You have heard the story of this good man and his lady wife,” Phillipe said, maintaining his habit of deflecting any portion of blame away from himself, be it good or bad. “They know just how precious a second chance of happiness is in this life. Is it so strange they would wish it for others?”

A flowery, oversentimental way of putting things, but it had the desired effect. Claude looked to his wife, who gave a resolute nod, and then about the rest; all in agreement.

“When do we begin?” he asked.

I believe all this effort was worth it, to be granted another glimpse at my brother’s broad, exultant smile.


	4. Chapter 4

Oh, Lord, how I do ache. Perhaps this is how beasts of the fields feel all the time? I have worked as hard as one today, I am certain! Three trips it’s taken in total to move the ex-bandits from their camp, and dozens around the castle, putting away what we’d brought with us from Aquila. It’s too late in the year to start any planting, and I’d not much time to prepare, but there’s enough bags of grain and other dry goods to last them the winter at least. When we get back to Aquila I can arrange for the livestock: a few milk goats and some chickens to get things started. Marie dictated me a list of what else they’ll need, and bless her if she hasn’t stopped crying since it was all made official!

There’s been no time to rest, and thankfully I’ve had no appetite today to even think about food. No matter what Imperious might say Nannette’s porridge still sits like a lump of coal in my stomach.

After that first trip in the cart I’d been much happier to walk alongside it to save my poor aching body, but now my feet feel as if they might fall right off! I shall be glad of some rest soon, Lord, but I don’t know when I’ll have the time.

The cold made me shiver and I wished now I’d not shed some of the layers Isabeau had foisted upon me this morning, but I had worked up a fine sweat with all that dashing about. Now that the night was closing in, I wish I could remember, Lord, where I’d left the blasted things. I tried to think but my head was so sore…

“Phillipe.”

I startled. When had Eti drawn so close?

“I’ve been calling you,” he scolded.

“Pardon,” I apologised and saw him smile.

“Your head’s been in the clouds today, urchin.”

I grinned back shyly, knowing he was proud of me, and knowing that _he_ knew I knew it. That notion had been almost as complicated for me to learn as to say, but Eti and Isabeau had insisted I come to understand my own worth in these things; and of course I would do anything to please them, so I had tried.

“We’ll set out for Aquila at first light,” Etienne said, looking away over the horizon toward the city with a wistful gaze.

My heart fell. Of course, Eti would be desperate to be back with Isabeau and his son. It had been selfish of me to demand this of him, so soon after the birth. There I went again, causing trouble for them, and not one word of complaint, blessedly wonderful people that they were. My stomach twisted and my head throbbed. I felt near tearful, my throat clenching painfully when I thought on it.

“Why not now?” I said, carrying on when I saw the surprise in his stormcloud-bright eyes. “There’s an hour or so of daylight still left, and Goliath knows the way in the dark well enough by now, I should say.”

“I would have thought you’d have had your fill of riding by now,” Eti said wryly, though there was a hungry look in his eye.

“Well, that’s as may be so,” I admitted, “but I would much sooner prefer a warm bed and a pretty lady’s company than spend the night in some ruins and a host of former-bandits snoring in my ear.”

Eitienne laughed – always a delightful sound – and clapped me on the back.

“Come then. You saddle Goliath and I shall make our farewells,” he said, smiling with anticipation at the idea of being all the sooner beside his beloved.

I took a moment after he had gone to steady myself and swallow down the bile which had leapt up my throat at that friendly blow, my shoulder still protesting where it had landed as if Eti’s hand had been made of hot iron. Then I shook my head, unsuccessfully trying to clear it, and set off toward the stables.


	5. Chapter 5

Phillipe was being uncharacteristically quiet.

I grinned to myself. Who would have guessed that a day of hard labour would be all that was needed to still my brother’s tongue? Perhaps I should suggest a hobby or three that might burn off some of the near fathomless energy he seemed to possess. Given my brother’s penchant toward sloth had he the choice, I suspected it would have to be a fairly _firm_ suggestion.

The moon was bright enough to light the road for us, Goliath going at an even canter for some time now. Phillipe had fallen asleep not long into the journey, the excitement of the day catching up to him at last. I held him to my chest, steadying his dead-weight easily.

My thoughts drifted back to Isabeau and our son; that same, wondrous contentment drifting over me as it had when I had heard his first cries. Our son. We would need soon to decide upon a name…

I frowned, something pressing at my mind, demanding attention.

Sometimes I felt like the Wolf had not fully left me; an instinct, perhaps, that pushed me to insights that I would not before have come to. Or perhaps the experience itself had broadened my perceptions, so that small details were closer to my awareness. Certainly I still felt the pull of the sun and moon; a ghost of the terror the sunset brought haunting me. But the moon had risen many hours since, so it must be something else that called to me.

Phillipe was trembling.

Not strange, perhaps, given the chill of the night, but considering the multitude of layers he wore it was unlikely. He did not feel cold in my arms – in fact, he was warmer than I, which was itself unusual for the still comparatively scrawny waif. I lifted the back of my hand to his cheek but impulsively pulled away as if the heat it encountered there would scald.

I muttered a curse.

I called his name, loud enough to be heard over Goliath’s hoofbeats, but my brother didn’t stir.

I cursed again and slowed Goliath to a halt, turning Phillipe toward me as much as I was able in the saddle and returning my hand to his brow. It radiated like a fire, and was damp besides with sweat. Now that we were stopped his shivering was more apparent, as were his breaths, coming out shaky and with a faint rasp to them that signalled worse to come.

“Phillipe?” I know I sounded fearful, and more than a little angry. _Why had he not mentioned he felt unwell?_ “Phillipe Navarre, wake up!”

His eyelids fluttered open a mite, but there was little in the way of awareness in his gaze.

“—ti?” he slurred. “Close’drr, ’m cold.”

_Blast it!_

I secured my brother tightly and kicked Goliath into a gallop.

Despite the thundering hooves I heard Phillipe groan at the jarring movement. I readjusted my hold, tucking his head into my nape and murmuring gentle words to him. He settled back into my arms with a whimper, but still did not wake.


	6. Chapter 6

I woke to a commotion downstairs; the front door banging open as if kicked with heavy force. The baby, in his cot beside our bed, began immediately to grizzle, and so I jumped up without delay, taking him to my breast, and wrapping us both in a shawl. Before I went downstairs, I took up the club that Etienne left beside the bedroom door for such an occasion, and left the room as quietly as I could, shushing our babe as I went.

“Imperious!”

Etienne? His voice sounded fearful, desperate. I hurried to the stairs only to see my husband rapidly ascending them, a familiar shape in his arms.

My heart may as well have turned to stone.

“What happened?” I gasped, feeling ill, and faint, and angry all at once.

“He’s sick,” Etienne said, sparing me a glance of fearful frustration as he passed. “Imperious!”

I knew it! Little fibber. Ohh, he was in _such_ trouble.

I pursed my lips and followed after them, but caught Etienne’s arm before he went into Phillipe’s room and guided him toward our own.

“The fire is stoked there, for the baby.”

He nodded grimly and turned, beginning to call out the good father’s name once more. Mercifully, a white-clouded head popped itself out of his rooms and a moment later Imperious was rushing toward us.

“Get him inside, quickly.”

We crowded into the bedchamber, but as Etienne laid Phillipe upon the bed, I held myself back so that Imperious might inspect my wilful little brother unobstructed. The baby cried and I shushed him, grateful to rock him for the good it did my nerves.

“My lady?”

I turned to see Nannette had followed us and was now standing in the doorway, her eyes bright with concern.

“Please fetch hot water,” I said, knowing what was in the basin was by now stone cold.

Nannette asked no questions, bless her sensible heart, and bobbed a quick curtsey before hurrying away.

When I turned back to the bed, Etienne had stepped back, and I was finally able to get a good look at our brother, though I wished very much that I had not. Phillipe’s poor, pain-creased eyes were deeply shadowed, his cheeks sunken and ash-grey. His hair was drenched in sweat, stuck to his face and neck. He trembled quite viciously, curling up into himself in obvious pain. I’d never before seen him in such a sorry state, not even after his misadventure in the ice and unfortunate encounter with my husband’s claws.

I bit my lip to save from shouting my rage.

Imperious huffed, clearly as frustrated as us both, and began his inspection.

“How could he look so unwell, after so short a time?” I asked.

“We worked all day,” Etienne said, his tone dull in the way he becomes when he shuts away emotion to save himself the pain of feeling it. “I do not remember seeing him eat.” He lifted Phillipe when Imperious instructed it, watching as the old priest laid his head to our brother’s chest to listen there, then again at his back. “I didn’t notice,” he murmured.

I made no excuses for him, knowing Etienne preferred to face his failings head on. Still, all the blame could not be laid at his doorway.

“Phillipe is a grown man,” I said and smiled thinly as my husband shot me an incredulous look, “I know it seems hard to believe sometimes, but he is no child. He should have spoken up.”

I drew closer and placed a comforting hand on Eti’s shoulder. “We will discuss this with him, when he is well.”

I know I spoke of an absolute that was by no means certain, but to do otherwise just now was unthinkable. My love gave a smile and nodded in agreement.

“I’ll begin practicing my lecture now,” he said with a half-hearted grin.

“Hold up a candle here, please my dear,” Imperious asked and I obeyed, Etienne still tasked with holding our brother upright. We watched tensely as the good Father looked into Phillipe’s eyes, gnarled fingers prising open the lids that my brother in turn tried to keep tightly closed, flinching away from even the dim candlelight. His rasping breath filled the silence.

Imperious looked inside Phillipe’s mouth and smelt his breath (and for that alone I am sure he has earned his position at God’s side). Finally, he stood up with an irritable sigh, shaking his head, though his gaze was filled with nothing but fond concern.

“The little fool has taken quite a nasty chill of the lungs,” he said. “I shall need to prepare a draught and poultice. While I do so, get him stripped down and into fresh linens. Warm them first by the fire.”

“Will he be all right?”

The priest’s mouth dipped grimly. “By God’s favour, I hope so.” He eyed Etienne then. “See to yourself first, sir Knight; we can’t have you succumbing too,” he ordered, then bustled from the room.

I chuckled and kissed my husband’s blushing cheek. It was true, he was coated in Goliath’s lather and sweat, and was still cool to the touch from the icy winds outside. Imperious’s words, though far from comforting, had loosened my heart but a little; enough that I might trust in hope.

Etienne smiled at me, in that bashful way he becomes when he is cared for, and did as instructed.

Our child had settled himself during our conversation and so I returned him to his cot while his father stripped of his clothes. I banked the fire to roaring and then busied myself in fetching fresh cloths, sparing one for my husband to wipe the sweat and lather of the ride away.

Nannette returned with the hot water then, and promised to bring another bucket to warm by the fire.

“Goliath—” Etienne began, but our maid interrupted him.

“—is rubbed down and fed, my lord. I gave him a warm mash.”

Etienne smiled gratefully. “Thank you. It was poor of me, to leave him unattended in the courtyard after his efforts.”

“He understands, I’m sure,” Nannette said, “We’re all of us worried for the young master.”

“He deserves the best care,” Etienne said, “he’s ridden two rescues in as many days.”

“I’ll see to it he’s treated fit for the king’s horse itself,” Nanette said, though her humour was somewhat distracted. “I’ll take the young sir to my rooms tonight, if it pleases you, my lady?”

“Thank you, Nannette,” I said with weary, heartfelt gratitude. As much as I wished to be close to our son, Phillipe needed us more just now.

Etienne washed himself quickly and dressed in dry clothes, by which time the linens for Phillipe were sufficiently warmed. We set about removing Phillipe’s clothes then, which were all likewise sodden in lather and sweat. He’d stayed asleep through all of Imperious’s prodding, and now only groaned a little as we gently manoeuvred him upright once more.

Etienne was at his back when Phillipe’s shirt came off. Had I not been facing him I might have missed the look that flickered across my husband’s face, and even then, had it been anyone else, they may not have noticed his distress.

“What? What is it?” I pressed; fearful the priest had missed something in his inspection.

“It’s nothing.” The words were evasive, the lie obvious in the way he avoided my eyes; and Etienne only ever lied to me when he knew the truth would cause me hurt.

“Etienne,” I admonished, softening my tone.

He said nothing, unusually hesitant, but eventually shifted aside so that I might see. When I did, I understood why he could not speak, for there were no words to adequately describe the state of my poor brother’s back.

Scars; lines of red and welted skin, both going up and across his back and shoulders, perhaps two or three dozen starkly visible. To be so clear still, they must have cut very deep at the time, and left untreated besides. In contrast, the wolf’s clawmarks upon his breast were by now barely even visible.

My throat constricted and I felt lightheaded.

“We need to clean and cover him before he catches a chill,” I forced out, hearing the tears in my voice. I snatched up the washcloth and started to clean him with quick, soft strokes, shame burning in my gut. How hot his poor skin was under my hand, his body burning up with fever.

Stupid. _Stupid_. I knew. I _knew_ that he had been a thief all his life; but it was naive of me to think that before his stay in Aquila’s prisons Phillipe had never been caught and punished for his crimes – let alone what he might have faced within the prison itself. My dear, sweet, happy brother, who had never truly harmed anyone save for those who could afford the inconvenience. Not a malicious bone in his precious body and treated so viciously, so painfully.

I felt a hand upon my cheek and looked up into Etienne’s eyes, though my vision was almost too blurred to see him.

“It’s all right,” he said, his deep voice solemn and sad, “he’s with us now. He’ll come to no more harm.”

I swallowed thickly and gave a jerking nod. Yes, of course. Whatever our brother had suffered before his time with us was in the past. He would never be treated in such a way again.

 _Never_ , I vowed.

We worked quickly and silently and when we were done Etienne lifted Phillipe into his arms so that I could pull back the covers of our bed to tuck him safely beneath. After that we could do no more than wait for Imperious and his medicine, and keep watch over our beloved brother.


	7. Chapter 7

_Hot. So hot. Lord!_

“Phillipe?”

My head was pounding. I tried to open my eyes but a lance of pain shot through my skull as soon as the barest fraction of light passed the lids. I could hear myself whining – pitiful noise – and buried myself deeper into the pillows. I tried to kick the stifling covers away but felt them tucked back around me. Hot. _Hot_.

Hands grabbed me, pulled me upright. I cringed away from them, expecting blows that never fell. Was I not in Aquila? The tavern perhaps? _Valette, is Mathis drunk again?_ I shuddered away from those memories. Heavy hands, hunger, pain.

Gentle fingers on my cheek, someone crooning to me softly. Funny, I’d never known my mother, so what was she doing in my dreams?

A mug held to my lips. Lord! I’m parched. I choked down half of whatever it was despite the pain in my throat but – dear God! – what is that foul taste? I gagged, but my throat was too tight to let the foul brew back up. A trick? Poison! I’ve been poisoned, Lord!

I tried to fight, get away from my attackers but there were strong hands on me again, pinning me to the floor – soft for a floor, though – _never felt so soft. Like sleeping on a cloud. My mind feels like a cloud, Lord, all of a sudden, like I’m going to float away. Am I dying? Is the poison working? Well, if this is the way of it, I suppose it could be worse. I can barely feel my head, never mind whatever was wrong with it before..._

“What poison?”

“He’s rambling, child. It’s the medicine.”

_…Medicine is it? Well that’s a lark, to kill a man and call it medicine! …Cold. Oh, so cold! Is heaven really so cold? Or wait… ah, that’s right. Silly of me, really, to think otherwise. Though I thought You might have been able to put in a good word to St Peter for me, Lord, given how close You and I have always been. Then again, Eti never let me away with anything either, not even when he could’ve, being the Captain of the Guard and all…_

“That’s right, little urchin, and I never shall.”

“Can he hear us, do you think?”

_…I suppose I shall never see him again. Or Isabeau. Or my godson – though that’s likely a blessing for him all the same. I shan’t have made a good example for him as a godparent should…_

“You’re going to make the finest godfather a boy could wish for, I promise you.”

_…Then there’s Imperious, and Goliath, and Abraham too. Nannette… Will You take care of them for me, Lord? …and if You’ve a chance will You tell them I’m sorry? I made such a fearful mess of it all. I didn’t mean to, but it seems I manage it even when I’m not even trying. I’ve tried my best to make amends but I can’t stop thinking on how it could have been. Oh, Christ! I could have killed her!_

“Etienne, he’s crying. Isn’t there anything we can do?”

_…I wanted to say it myself, but You know I’m a coward, Lord, and Eti would never forgive me, no matter what he says. Who would?_

I choked again as more foul liquid hit my throat. I could barely feel my hands, let alone lift them to push the cup away. Still I tried my best not to swallow, until I felt my nose pinched and my head tilted and—Damn! Eugh! Cursed, vile, terrible, poisonous medicine!

_…I suppose it’s all I deserve really…_


	8. Chapter 8

How small he looked.

Well, I suppose he always was a runty thing, even when he was well and scampering about. But now, swallowed up by the pillows that kept him upright so that he did not drown in his own fluids, and covered with a dozen throws, Phillipe looked as tiny as a child… or a mouse.

His breath caught in his throat and a great, hacking cough was torn from him. I leant him forward, clapping his back to help move the humours, which he half-heartedly spat into a bowl I held for that purpose.

I was glad to have sent Isabeau and Etienne away to rest; all this phlegm and blood would have been certain to have upset them. It had taken some persuasion, but a priest is more suited to a night’s vigil, and after two days sat worrying at his bedside, the young parents were wearied to exhaustion.

When he was finished, I removed the bowl and lay Phillipe back, taking a warm, wet cloth to wipe the saliva, sweat, and tears from his face; precious liquids he could ill afford to lose.

He gazed up at me with fever-glazed eyes, from amidst an ash-grey face. What little weight had been on his cheeks had fallen from them; he could hardly keep water down, let alone a nourishing meal.

“F—father?” he wheezed, his voice the barest, mousely squeak, a tear slipping from his eye. “I think I’m dying.”

He looked at me with open terror, begging comfort. Even so I had never lied to him, and would not start so now.

“I fear it may be a possibility, my child.”

He drew an unsteady breath, more tears falling as he pinched his eyes tight shut.

“I’m scared.”

I found a hand and held it tightly, frowning at how cold it was. “You have nothing to fear, Phillipe Navarre. God willing, heaven awaits.”

His eyes snapped open and he gave me an incredulous frown of his own.

“Ah ah,” I said, before he could protest. “You might have sinned a great deal in your young life, young Dismas, but you are not a bad man. God knows more than any of us the good you have done in this world, and may yet do. Though it might take you a little while to get there, all that waits for you Beyond are the pearly gates.”

His breath hitched and his hand trembled, not all from his fever, I suspected.

“Will… would you give me last rights? ...Please, Father.”

I pursed my lips; the unpleasant thought had crossed my mind a fair bit these past few nights the poor lamb had lain abed.

“If you wish it, Phillipe, I shall.”

He looked relieved, relaxing back, his eyes slipping closed.

“Do I need to confess all my sins?”

“Lord, no!” I gave a hushed chuckle. “We neither of us have the time left for that.”

As sick as he was, the boy pouted, cracking open one rheumy eye to say: “You’re supposed to be kindly to the dying, Father.”

“Then perhaps you are not so sick as you think you are,” I said, but swiftly relented, lifting a hand to his forehead to smooth away the hair that stuck there. “We may dispense with the thievery and the untruths, young man, but is there anything else which weighs upon your soul?”

Phillipe was quiet for some time, so long, in fact, that I wondered if he had not fallen back into his fever-sleep.

“You won’t say?” he whispered fearfully.

“This is confession, child, whatever you tell me will be for mine and God’s ears alone.”

“I…” he shuddered and looked away, down at his free hand where it gripped the blankets tightly. “Isabeau… she almost died, her and the babe…”

Of all my imaginings, his answer left me nonplussed. How on Earth was that a sin of his?

“…You believe you were to blame?”

“I know I was!” Phillipe tried to push himself forwards, his whole being filled with desperation. He coughed, deep and hard, and I had to fetch the bowl again.

When his breath returned to him, I remained where I had perched, allowing Phillipe to rest against my side whilst I gently rubbed his back. His shirt was stuck to him with sweat and he panted from the exertion. With my free hand I carefully washed his face through the last of his chokes and sniffles, then coaxed his head onto my shoulder, wrapping him into the comfort of my arms.

We stayed in such a way for a long time as he drifted in and out of wakefulness.

While I had the opportunity, I took a moment to speak the Words of Institution over a mug of honey-sweetened wine at Phillipe’s bedside. The lad either did not hear me or did not take note; regardless I would have this done right, and my dear friend would not be without his Eucharist.

“I claimed their attention,” he murmured sleepily, when the night sky outside was lightening and my back had gone stiff. He shifted uncomfortably and from my position I could see that the barest of blushes had spiked in his cheeks. I dared to feel the smallest morsel of hope that colour could still bloom there.

“You know… the way I do?”

I nodded but gave no further answer, in case it delayed his confession further. The boy was tiring fast, and I feared if he delayed much longer his soul would depart ere we were finished.

“Isabeau… I angered her so,” he said, voice hoarse, barely audible, but filled with bitter shame. He was crying again, the tears landing upon my cassock. “She was… and then barely half a day after…”

Ah. So that was the heart of it.

“Phillipe,” I said sternly, ducking my head so that I could catch one bloodshot eye with my own. “The timing of your godson’s birth, and the struggle it caused your sister, was not your doing.”

He scoffed a muffled noise of protest but I shook my head and continued. “It’s true, some activities have been known to hasten a child’s coming, but _that_ is not one of them,” I said, being sure to keep any humour from my voice. “And even if it had, Isabeau’s early labour was no bad thing. Had the child taken his full term before he decided to be born, he likely would have been too large to do so. Indeed, young scamp, an early labour was the very thing which _saved_ both their lives.”

Phillipe lifted his head away from my shoulder to stare at me, his eyes overlarge and swimming with yet more unshed tears. “But… but she struggled so…”

“Such is God’s decree,” I said, shushing the boy as he tried to squirm away from my truths. “Do you really think so much of yourself, brat, that you hold the same influence as Him?”

Phillipe spluttered an indignant negative at that, though his efforts drained him even further. At least his tears had now dried.

“Do you mean it?” he whispered, hardly daring to look at me.

“Phillipe, the only sin you hold in regard to that venture is one of misguided self-importance,” I said softly, hugging him close and kissing his hair, “our Father would no more bar you from the Heavens for that than any other young man.”

He truly did flush then, and I worried he might faint from the effort of it.

“Do you repent your sins, Phillipe?” I asked hurriedly.

“I do, Father,” he said, though it was barely above a whisper, his eyes falling closed.

“Then you are forgiven, child.”

His body melted into mine, profound relief radiating from every pore.

“ _Thank_ _you_ , Father. I think… I may be ready.”

I nodded and laid him back against the pillows once more. From my cassock I took a vial of holy oil and, with hushed prayer, anointed the boy’s head, then his wrists, and finally – as a personal touch, for all that he meant to us – his heart.

“Lord, remember this man when he comes to Your kingdom,” I prayed in closing, “For whoever believes in You will not perish, but have eternal life.”

Phillipe eyes closed at my words, a final pair of tears tumbling down his cheeks. My dear, young Dismas.

I took the Eucharist with trembling hands, and tilted but a drop onto the boy’s lips.

“Go with God, Phillipe, if you must,” I said, knowing my voice wavered, “but know you are loved, and wanted, and will be unfathomably missed. I pray you come back to us, if that is God’s will. May the Holy Spirit give you the strength to do so.”

He said nothing, fallen already into deepest sleep, his breaths harsh but his face peaceful; his wine-blushed lips curved up into the slightest smile.

I sat back and recommenced my vigil.

How small he looked.


	9. Chapter 9

I woke to a very pressing need.

Swinging my legs about seemed out of the question, I could barely move my body was filled with such fatigue. But a slow slither to the edge might not be unachievable, then perhaps a controlled flop, and hopefully my objective would be within reach beneath the bed.

“What do you think you are doing?”

I startled at the voice, its growl both amused and incredulous, and opened one eye to spy out Etienne, who had spoken.

“Ah, h-hello, dear brother,” I croaked.

“Hmm, hello to you too, urchin,” he stood from his chair – why it was so close to the bedside, and why Eti was sitting in it apparently watching me sleep, I had no notion – and folded his arms across the mighty expanse of his chest. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to sneak away?”

“No indeed,” I coughed, then flushed and looked away, fiddling with the blankets. “But if you could perhaps please see your way to giving me some privacy, sir...?”

“Ah,” he nodded in understanding, in that forthright manner of his, and came up beside me, tugging the blankets away. “Come then, I shall help you.”

“Wh— _What?_ ” I wheezed.

“I have done so many times this past week.”

“You have?” I remembered now, though the details were hazy. I had been most fearfully sick. But a week? Had it truly been that long?

A horrible thought came to me.

“Did… did Isabeau…?”

“Your sister was spared from all matters of your toilet,” Eti said solemnly, though I swear there was some humour twinkling in his gaze, “bed-baths included.”

I relaxed, huffing a grateful sigh, though it turned to a dry cough that burned my poor throat.

Eti frowned in sympathy and bent to run a hand through my hair, the way he only did at his most gentle. He took my shoulder then and turned me to the side so that I lay on my hip at the very edge of the bed.

“Enough fuss. You haven’t the strength to manage yourself,” he said, readying the chamber pot beneath me, one comforting hand still holding me steady.

Mortification nearly overwhelmed me. I could hear myself whining in protest; pathetic sound.

“Come, sir,” Eti gently cajoled, “Isabeau has gone to feed our son but shall return before long. If you want to keep that dignity of yours intact I suggest cooperation.”

Still, I hesitated. The very idea of Eti acting my manservant seeming so very wrong to me. Who was I to dare demand such a thing from this great and noble knight? How could I allow him to lower himself so?

Then Etienne looked up to meet my wide eyes.

“Please, brother, allow me this small act of service.”

I gulped. Well, who could refuse such a request, Lord, made with such enchanting eyes? It had to be witchcraft, the power they held over me.

I nodded dumbly, but the moment he reached for the lacings of my linens I turned away, pressing my face into his wrist, my eyes squeezed tightly shut. Shamed tears pricked their corners, my chest twisting into horrid knots.

The hand that braced me moved along my shoulder, until I felt the thumb gently smoothing my cheek.

“You have borne a great deal this past week, dear brother,” Eti said, his deep, soothing tone going straight to my chest where it began to unknot the tangled mess there. “We have watched you fight and struggle, day and night, and emerge victorious. I could not be more proud of you, Phillipe.”

I hitched a sob at that and roughly wiped my eyes upon his sleeve, hearing him tuck the bedpan away beneath the bed once more.

“There, now we may as well administer your medicine whilst we’re about it.”

I started to ask his meaning, but instead gave an undignified squeak as Etienne took hold of me and flipped me onto my front. A brief press of his hand to the small of my back stopped my trying to squirm about, and I instead watched in confusion as he crossed to the basin, first washing his hands and then taking up a bowl from several at the side.

Eti turned back and saw me watching curiously. He raised a brow, his mouth twitching into a small frown. Without further explanation he returned to my side and tugged my linens to my knees.

I uttered another indignant squeak, and a moment later a gasp, as Eti scooped a dollop of cold paste onto my bottom.

I twisted as far as I could to try and glimpse what he was about, and blinked in surprise at the state of my backside. It was nearly full bruised; that ugly, greenish-purple sort that bruises go after they’ve had a few days to really sit and think about it.

It was as if seeing it caused me to remember the pain there, which came back to me then quite startlingly. But no, I think I remembered it from before. I had perhaps just forgotten in the face of everything else.

“It looks better today.”

I couldn’t see Isabeau from my position, which was all the better because I think I was about to die from mortification. She came around, however, to stand beside her husband, who still smoothed the potion on with as much care and concentration as a master artisan. She kissed his head and then ran her hand through my hair, just as Etienne had done.

“Welcome back to us, little Mouse.”

“Thank you, my lady,” I said, flushing and ducking my head from her gaze.

“Hmm,” was all she said, and I glanced up to see her eyes narrowed upon me, a shade of the Hawk in her focus.

I swallowed thickly.

“How do you feel?” was all she asked.

“Very well!” I grinned. “Why I think I am perhaps as fit as a yearling and just as fine.”

I yelped, only kept from leaping up by Etienne’s preemptive hand pressed upon my back - though he was no clairvoyant to do so; it had been he who had pinched the tender skin of my thigh, just below the bruises.

“Would you care to try that again, brother?” he asked me, a little of the Wolf’s snarl in his throat.

I bit my lip, blinking back the tears which had sprung up as such foul play; but catching Isabeau’s stern eye I realised I had no allies in the room.

“I feel as feeble as a mouse,” I admitted, abashed. “And not half as spry.”

Isabeau’s smile did much to rouse my spirits and Eti too rewarded me with a soothing rub to the recently abused thigh.

“Are you hurting anywhere?”

I paused before answering him and gave the matter true consideration.

“Everywhere, but only a little,” I was quick to reassure. “And if you were missing a hound, Eti, I believe it has taken up residence in my mouth.”

Isabeau laughed – wonderful sound – and hurried to pour me a mug from a jug at the side. I was surprised to find it was merely water, but, Lord, how I drank it down as if it were the finest wine, and a second mug after that. She refused me a third, however, Etienne muttering something about ‘learning their lesson the hard way’.

He had finished with his ministrations by then and helped me back up around to rest upon the pillows. I winced, trying to find a comfortable position that spared my bruises, but ultimately gave up.

“How on earth did that happen anyway?” I grumbled almost to myself.

“You seem surprised,” Eti said, his brow raised sternly.

“That is what happens when wilful brats take a well-deserved hiding then charge about the countryside on horseback without rest for two days,” Isabeau said, the claws of her words raking at my conscience.

“Well, excuse me, indeed,” I said, folding my arms in a huff, then pouted at Eti’s warning frown. “But what else was I to do?”

“Enough, love,” Eti said, stopping Isabeau with a gentle hand, just as she opened her mouth to rejoinder. “We shall discuss this further when he is fully recovered.”

I didn’t like the sound of that at all. Those kind of ‘discussions’ always went badly for my poor backside. My stomach clenched the way it always did when I knew I was ‘in for it’, as Eti’s guardsmen would threaten, so I suppose that answered that riddle; my stomach was never wrong.

At that moment it gave an almighty growl.

Isabeau’s pout split into a bright, cheerful smile, and even Etienne needed to duck his head to try and hide his twitching lips.

“I take it you’re hungry then at last, urchin?” he said, standing without awaiting my answer and heading for the door.

Isabeau watched her husband go and then turned back to me, gaze soft and, to my horror, just a little watery.

“Oh, Phillipe,” she cried lowly, flinging herself into my startled arms. “We were so desperately worried.”

Though somewhat perplexed, I returned the hug, never having needed a reason to want her close. She pressed my head to hers, and I drank in the sweet smell of her, as comforting and overwhelming as it had been the first time she had held me. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, Lord, or not crave this closeness; ‘faith, it’s even worth the roasted backsides I must sometimes endure to earn it!

We still held each other when Eti returned, I catching his eye over my sister’s shoulder as he came through the door. He raised a brow, amused this time rather than stern, and brought the bowl he carried to my side.

“Unhand the scamp, if you can bear it, love,” he said, his tone more gentle than teasing. “Here,” he said to me, as Isabeau stepped back, swiping a surreptitious hand across her eyes when she thought my attention elsewhere.

I took the bowl, the smell of the broth making my mouth water near as much as a hound. I spared my sister a look of concern before I gave the meal my full attention, however, letting the bowl rest in my lap as I addressed them both.

“I’m sorry,” I said and meant it with all my heart, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eti snorted and ruffled my hair. “You’re forgiven, waif. Though you’d best not court any further sickness.”

“Truly. Between you and Gaston we’ve barely slept,” Isabeau sighed, sinking into the chair beside my bed.

“Really, I—” I paused, dumbfounded, “…What did you say?”

I looked first to Isabeau and then Etienne, who had fixed me with a soft, proud smile.

“Gaston Loup Navarre,” he said, his beautiful eyes as gentle as I have ever seen them, “your godson.”

“Do you mind?” Isabeau asked, leaning forward, her hand resting upon my knee.

Mind? To mind I would have to understand, and that, Lord, was far beyond my capabilities at the current time.

“But… but—”

“You don’t like it?”

I blinked several times, trying to clear my head.

“I’ve always thought Gaston a fine name,” Etienne said, and, dazed though I was, I caught the humour on the edge of his tongue.

“Well, I suppose,” I said hesitantly, “Though I would have thought you would chose a grander name for him, one of your famous ancestors, or beloved relative maybe? A princely name, like John, or Charles, or such? N-not that it isn’t a good name!” I rushed to correct myself as I saw them share a look of fond exasperation. “Really, any name would be grand, because any child of yours is certainly destined to be the greatest man in all of France. Why, I’m sure—”

“Phillipe,” Isabeau cut across me, “Shut up.”

I clamped my lips together, relieved at the order, for if it were up to me I’d probably be talking until next summer.

“We _did_ choose the name of a beloved relative, Phillipe,” Isabeau said.

“Oh, pardon my ignorance, I didn’t know. An uncle of yours, perhaps? Or a grandfath—”

They acted as one; Etienne took the bowl from my unresisting hands, pushing me gently at my shoulder so that I tipped away from them; Isabeau meanwhile, raised my blankets, and delivered a swift, crisp swat to my thigh.

I yelped, but was tugged back to my previous position before I could try and scrabble away from the dear ladyhawke’s avenging hand.

“Stop being obtuse, brat,” Etienne said, sternly. “You know what she meant.”

I swallowed thickly, and swiftly dropped all pretence. “Yes,” I said, my voice watery as I gave them both a wobbly smile, “I think I do.”

“I take it you have no objection?” Etienne asked, and I saw the vulnerability there, not quite hidden behind his usual stern mask.

“None, sir. In fact, I am honoured. I’m sure he will do better with it than I ever managed.”

Isabeau huffed a laugh and embraced me once more; a second blessing of the day.

I looked over her shoulder to my brother and raised my own brow.

“Loup, though? Really?”

“It was Isabeau’s idea,” Etienne gave a mock scowl.

“The full name is “Gaston Fils du Loup”,” Isabeau said to me in a stage whisper. She drew back from our hug – more’s the pity – and gave me a cheeky wink.

I snorted, but a cough from Etienne had us both switching our grins for solemn frowns; which lasted only until our eyes met and we fell back into giggles, like naughty children again.

Isabeau’s laugh was traded for a squark as her husband picked her up from the chair, twirling her about and landing a few mock pats to her rear that had her laughing harder still. Then Etienne took the seat himself, sitting his wife upon his lap, her arms wrapped about his neck as she peppered his cheek with kisses.

I laughed myself until my belly loudly reminded me of its hunger. At Eti’s encouraging nod I took up my bowl again from the side. A few spoonfuls in to the rich chicken broth and I forsook the spoon completely, gulping directly from the bowl’s rim instead.

My brother and sister watched me fondly, and, though neither said too much to fill the silence, I heard their loving words all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm half-way through an epilogue for this one but it may take a little while to get it out. There are.. a lot of feels XD This was my first sickfic so I hope you enjoyed it! T x


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